Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem

As the magic of the [Slave Contract] takes hold, Julia's eyes glaze over, the fight extinguished within her. She stands, awaiting the man's command, a puppet with her strings in his hands.

"Now, let's see what this spell can really do," the tall man says, his voice devoid of emotion. He regards Julia with cold curiosity, like a scholar observing an experiment. His masked partner stands back, watching with a silent intensity. I thought she would object, but I can feel a tinge of inquisitiveness from her as well... Things are not looking good for me.

He strides towards a padded couch and sits down comfortably. "Fetch me a glass of wine," he orders, testing her obedience.

Julia moves with mechanical precision, retrieving a goblet and filling it with the deep red liquid. She returns and hands it to him without hesitation. He takes a sip, nodding slightly.

"Sing," he commands, "Something cheerful."

Julia's voice is shaky at first, but as the magic compels her, she sings a bright, frivolous tune, her voice hollow in the oppressive silence. It's a surreal juxtaposition, the melody of her song contrasting with the brutality of the moment.

The tall man watches with an inscrutable gaze. "Dance," he adds, "and make it lively."

Her body moves awkwardly at first, then more fluidly as she loses herself to the compulsion. She dances a jig, her feet tapping out a rhythm that echoes off the walls.

"Faster," he urges, and she obeys, her movements becoming more frantic, her breath coming in sharp gasps.

The man's demands grow darker. "Now, spin," he says, and as she twirls, he tosses his dagger to the floor in front of her.

"Pick it up," he instructs. She stops spinning, bends down, and picks up the weapon, her fingers wrapping around the hilt.

"Cut your arm," he says, his voice calm, as if he were asking her to pass the salt. Julia's hand trembles as she lifts the dagger to her skin, drawing a thin line of blood. She winces, but the spell binds her actions.

"Please... I'm already your tool for life, use me to satisfy yourself, or even make me into a prostitute who earns you money until my final breath...! Just not this..." She begs amidst pained sobs.

You would absolutely love that, wouldn't you? I can't help but curse at her inwardly. Of course my wife would happily become a prostitute for life.

"Heh. No can do, lady. I'm not at all interested in you, neither physically nor spiritually. As for becoming a pimp... well, I'm not really interested, and even if I were, I certainly wouldn't employ a used up old slut like you.

On the other hand, I'm thoroughly intrigued to find out the limitations of this strange and cruel magic, so you will serve your master as you are supposed to." His tone has a strange sense of finality in them, even Julia doesn't find it in herself to speak further and just continues her hopeless wails.

I might not be able to see the man's lips, but I'm absolutely certain that they curl into a cruel smile. "Again."

Another slice, deeper this time. Blood drips to the floor, staining the carpet. Her eyes are wide, pleading for mercy she knows will not come.

"Now dance again," he commands, leaning back as he watches her bleeding form attempt to comply, each movement causing her more pain.

Her dance is more a stagger now, the injuries slowing her steps. The floor becomes slick with her blood, each step leaving a crimson mark. She stumbles, falling to her knees.

"No one told you to stop singing." He reminds her, his voice almost gentle. And so she does, her voice wavering as her strength wanes. The melody is broken, fading into a pained whimper.

Finally, he tells her, "You lied to me about your name, or perhaps you've just forgotten it over your long years of debauchery? We have to make sure you don't repeat the same mistake. Carve your name on your stomach to serve as a reminder."

Tears stream down her face as she raises the dagger again, but the compulsion is absolute. She moves the blade to her abdomen, cutting with shaky hands. Each letter is a struggle, her voice strained as she cries out in pain repeatedly.

Her breathing is labored now, her skin pale and clammy. Yet she continues to sing, a twisted parody of happiness. All the while blood flows freely from her wounds, pooling around her.

As the song dies on her lips, she collapses, the dagger falling from her grasp. Her body shudders, the light in her eyes fading until she lies motionless.

"Well, it is safe to say that the contract is one mighty fucking spell." He states, as if confirming his scholarly hypothesis after conducting proper research.

"I could've told you that myself..." I whimper. I might hate my wife but it was hard for my heart to see this sight of her. She did give birth to my children, after all.

"Your wife is a compulsive liar by the look of things, how could I possibly trust you? Furthermore, a man sometimes must investigate things for himself." He then glances downwards and sneers with disgust. "Dude, really? I knew you were a filth but to be such a degenerate..."

Perplexed, I follow his gaze and see a bulge in my pants. "Oh. Oh!" Oh, indeed. Why the fuck am I harder than I ever was in the past two decades? I thought I was sad for the fate of my cheating wife, but I guess that was just my mind talking, not my heart.

"I told you that these people are the worst kind of scum." The short woman speaks up in an even more sickened tone than the man. "All slavers deserve death."

"Thanks..."

"You are an exception, of course, my dearest master." She replies cheerily. Is she his slave?

"Well, that's good to hear. I'm done with my research, it's time to finish. I will rob this place clean to make it seem like we were here for their riches, and also to level up my Thief class in the process finally, until then please keep watch over our newest friend."

"Sure."

She glances at me and I know instantly that my fate is sealed. I won't be able to run away while this lioness is watching me. "Can I drink some wine as a final favor?"

"No."